No habla Espanol

The AccidentIt was all my fault. I shouldn’t have tried to pull my trailer through a gap hardly big enough for a normal sized car.

However I saw the prospect of having to wait three hours while the Mexican police unsnarled the car wrecks on a narrow mountain road and I had already been driving since seven in the morning.

It was almost 3 p.m. when we drove past the first accident. Two cars had hit head on as we climbed the rain slick  road. The second accident was worse, involving a yellow sports car on the left side of the road and a truck and SUV on the right.

Several injured people sat by the side of the road. Police had allowed a stream of on coming traffic through a narrow gap and when all the cars had passed, I nudged my truck and trailer ahead. I made it three quarters the way through the gap before I heard the sound of metal to metal.

My trailer was up against one of the law enforcement officials pickup trucks. “Oh, this was serious,” I thought to myself. I backed up and got out to take a
look.

A man in an official looking uniform was in my face immediately, speaking so fast and furious I couldn’t understand him.

I took my usual stance “No habla Espanol”. It only slowed him down a bit before he ran off to find a policeman who could speak English.

Then the English was just clear enough to make me aware that I had made a major mistake and would have to pay for it, maybe in jail. I waited until he was through and then reached into the glove compartment to retrieve my Mexican Insurance papers.

I waved these at him and said I would pay for the damage. This didn’t seem to quiet him until another Mexican, who was bilingual, stepped up and assured him that the papers were in order and my truck and trailer was insured.

The official wanted my driver’s license too, however I refused to give it to him. I gave him my business card instead. Just when I thought he was going to haul me off to jail an ambulance arrived. I was in the middle of the road so the ambulance couldn’t get through.

The official had to move his truck to allow me through and when he did, I drove off the side of the road and kept on going.

  The official had my insurance papers in hand, my business card and a dumbfounded look on his face as I drove off. That night I told the whole story to a Mexican Insurance Adjuster.

All he wanted to know was how much damage had been done to my vehicle. I said “none”.

“Then what am I doing here?” the adjuster asked?

“I want you to make sure the damage on the official’s truck is taken care of,” I said.

When I gave the adjuster the name and title of the Mexican official, he said the man was the Mexican equivalent to the FBI.

Before leaving I made sure the adjuster had a statement of the accident and that I wanted the insurance company to have it on record that I was at fault and would pay for the repairs.